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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2014
Copyright © Aimee Duffy 2014
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Aimee Duffy asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © March 2014
ISBN: 9780007540297
Version 2014-09-26
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
Dear Sally,
I read your column weekly but never thought Iâd be writing this email. The truth is thereâs something wrong with me. I canât climax. Iâve never been able to, and my recent ex told me this was normal for some women. Not the women I know. Was he telling the truth? Sometimes it feels like Iâm the only one.
Yours,
Anonymous
Georgia Lewis forced herself to leave it at that. It was one thing to think of herself as a freak, another to sign off using the label. Moving the mouse over the mat provided by Briggs Department Stores, she tried to click âsendâ, but her finger wouldnât obey the command.
Frustrated, she let go of the mouse and raked a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face. She couldnât be the only woman in New York whoâd never experienced what her friends kept banging on about, could she? Plus sheâd created a false email address so none of Sallyâs Sexual Help readers would know it was her who sent it in, so what did it matter?
She needed to pull on her big-girl panties and send the damn thing. Maybe then sheâd be able to concentrate on the end-of-year accounts on her desk. After all, she was here to work, not worry about body parts that didnât function correctly.
Resolved, she reached for the mouse again. Her desk phone rang and she stifled a sigh. Abandoning the mouse, she picked up the phone.
âAccounts Department,â she answered, though she could hardly call it that, more âtwo women forgotten in closets at the back of the building.â
âGeorgia, I need the buying accounts for last month.â
His deep voice made her skin prickle, like it always did. She shook off the weird sensation. He was her new boss; until his father got better anyway, and sheâd never let herself look at him any other way. Okay, maybe she had on occasion, when she trailed behind him in the hall. Who wouldnât check out an ass like his? It was high and firm and utterly squeezable.
âSure, Maxton. Iâll get them ready.â
âGeorgiaâ¦â
She rolled her eyes. âMax. Sorry.â
Hard to break a habit of a lifetime. His father, Maxton Briggs the First, never allowed his name to be shortened.
But it was Maxton Briggs the Second running the show now.
âYouâd better. Iâd hate to have to punish you.â
He disconnected the call leaving her staring at the receiver. Heat rose in her cheeks and her heart hammered in her chest. He didnât meanâ¦
No, he didnât. He was joking. God. She had to get a grip. Sexual frustration was driving her to think her boss was flirting with her. And sure, Max was less formal than his father, and she supposed a good guy to work for, but since his break-up, which was unfortunately witnessed by half the staff at Briggs, he wasnât his usual happy-go-lucky self. Not to mention a little bit weird. Though she couldnât blame him for that.
She rose so quickly she left her swivel chair spinning. Pulling open the cabinet drawer, she shuffled the slings until she came across the empty one which should have housed the file he wanted.
âDamn it.â
The sooner she gave Max the file and sent him on his merry way, the better. Usually she struggled to keep her thoughts from rolling off her tongue around everyday people; with him around it was impossible. And the boss didnât need to know what she thought of his ass, or how hot he looked in one of those charcoal suits with the silk ties. Or even about those dreams sheâd had starring Maxton the Second, and very little in the way of clothes.